New Stories: Lawrence learns of the Attack (Happened)

"My liege, that is one of the Queen's escort!"

The King's head whipped toward his aide, Edred, at the sound of the word "queen". Days prior he had watched her party leave heading east on the old Roman road to Lincoln and smiled, content that soon she would be across the Cromwell bridge and safe in Christenlande, as good as home with their children. He had congratulated himself on getting her to safety. Then he had focused all his energies and attention on breaking the stalemate with the usurpers in the fortress.

He strode briskly with Edred to meet the man as he approached the encampment. His eyes were wary of what news the man would have, though they also told him the man was hurrying but did not seem to be frantic. Perhaps it was just a relay from one of the guard posts along the way.

The mounted man saluted and bowed as he reined in his horse. "Sire, the captain of the escort sent me back here…"

"Aye, aye, is the Queen well?" Lawrence demanded impatiently.

"She was well when I left them, lord," he replied.

Lawrence's face muscles relaxed. "Dismount and come and tell me all."

A soldier had hold of the horse's bridle, and the newly arrived man gratefully slid off his mount. Another soldier handed him a cup of ale. He took it and held it to his lips, all the while trying to keep up with the tall King's long rapid stride.

At the central campfire the King gestured for the man to sit. He himself sat nearby and leaned forward, his forearms on his knees, and urged the man to tell his story. "When was this?"

"Lord, it was yesterday, midmorning or so. We were about seven leagues or so from the bridge on the Trent. Captain had marked that there had not been a post at the proper intervals for some short distance. He sent a scout to inquire ahead, and then sent me hear to inform you."

Lawrence chewed his lower lip. "Had there been any signs of fighting?"

"Nay, sire, not that we beheld." The man kept his eyes slightly averted from the King's direct gaze out of respect.

Lawrence reached a hand and grasped the man's shoulder. "Good man. I will send a force to help the escort if they need it. Did your captain have any sense of what may have happened to the posts?"

Much moved by the King's gesture, the man smiled. "Just that they may have strayed from duty, to hunt or just out of boredom." His smile vanished when the King frowned.

Lawrence stood and barked at Edred, "Get a force together and send them quickly to see what the escort learned. If those soldiers have deserted their posts, they will not like the consequences."

Edred nodded sharply, bowed and dashed to follow the command.

"Prepare an armed party to investigate. Then get my arms ready."

"You are leaving, sire?" Edred blurted out.

"Nay, I am going to go swimming in the Don," he retorted acidly. "Get to it without delay." He stayed to ask the men more questions about the location and time of the incident, his face grim.

The commanders gathered at the cottage that was the King's headquarters and billet. As Edred helped Lawrence into his thickly padded leather gambeson over which he would wear his waist length mail shirt, they argued with him about going himself to find out what had happened on the road.

"You do not need to go yourself, my lord, " urged Horsa, the supreme commander of the King's forces after the King himself. "Send one of us if you feel it needs a high ranking leader, but not yourself."

Lawrence ignored the older man, attending instead to what his aide was doing. "Tighter there," he told him as the man buckled on greaves to protect the King's legs.

Sagar was only slightly less blunt. "Lord, beg pardon, but 'tis likely nothing."

Lawrence looked up, his eyes ablaze. "Nothing? The Queen's well being is nothing? That is the mother of your next King, do you not realize?"

The four commanders exchanged guarded looks. Jehan of Grantham sighed, shrugged and stepped back to lean against the wall, signaling his surrender from the argument. Botopher of Skirbeck was not so willing to yield. "Your majesty, what do you think your absence will tell the fortress?"

"I do not give a damn what Malcolm thinks. I need to do what's right, mayhap for the first time in this God damned war!" Lawrence's face registered his own slip. He pursued, "I will not let her down again." He clenched his jaw, giving each man a look that said, "Say something and you will regret it."

Only Horsa reacted visibly at all, lowering his chin to his chest and frowning. "Sagar, Botopher and Jehan, go on and put together the force as my lord has commanded. I will be out to help in a little while."

The men, all strong and confident fighters, subsided and, bowing to the King, then to Horsa, they left the cottage. Horsa waited, then looked up at the King, whose face was challenging him to speak. Edred continued to armor him, tying leather cords where the mail sections came together.

"Do you have something to add?" Lawrence demanded.

Horsa sighed. "Your leave to speak candidly, my king?"

Lawrence paused, nodded sharply, then turned his attention back to Edred's ministrations.

Horsa spoke. "My lord, none of us missed your statement about doing something right. May I ask, what have you done wrong?"

"Nay, you may not ask. But I will say this, that my actions and inaction have combined to create this entire situation. It is my responsibility, and I shall make it right."

"My lord, we need you here…" the older Angle started.

"That is all. I shall not be dissuaded. I will meet with you and the others in one half hour. Leave me. You as well, Edred. Send the priest in." Lawrence's posture and face punctuated his words.

As they left, and as the King waited for the priest, he walked to the screen that separated the sleeping space from the rest of the cottage. He stood in his full armor, his helm under his arm, and gazed at where just days before his wife's head had lain on the pillow and where they had made love. His expression became angry and determined.

The priest came in quietly and bowed. Lawrence turned to face him. He nodded to the only stool in the cottage. "Sit, Father. I will make my confession." The priest, knowing that the King would soon be pacing and never sat during confession, accepted the seat. Lawrence got on his knees, crossed himself and put his hands together in prayer. The priest bowed his head and looked away, also making the sign of the cross.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," the King began. He rattled off some minor sins, primarily allowing himself to become too angry and blaspheming. Then as he paused, trying to articulate the stronger feelings he had, he did as expected, stood and started to pace.

"Father, I have so much that I am responsible for."

The priest replied, "Sire, you are the King. Like Christ, you are your people's shepherd.."

Lawrence broke in "Nay, I know that. That is the problem. I am a poor shepherd. Not only do I not protect my flock, I lead them into danger and catastrophe."

The priest nodded but said nothing, letting the king speak.

Lawrence went on. "This entire war is my fault. Had I not attacked and then sent the Breton away none of this would have happened. Then if I had at least taken action to replace him, stayed myself or sent Horsa or even Lorin… but I did not. I barely thought of it. I cannot say why. Lorin even urged me…" He struck one palm with the other fist. "Then what do I do when the usurpers are gathering their troops? Did I even know? Nay! They conspired under my very nose. And who should be trapped when they attacked? The dearest creature in my world. How can I ever forgive myself? I can go on.. I have stepped wrong every bit of the way."

The priest watched him, seeing how the King's face was twisted with self-doubt. When Lawrence came back to kneel near him, he put a paternal hand on his lord's shoulder. "Son, you cannot take all that onto yourself. You did not make these evil men act. You could not know they would while the Queen was here."

"I am the shepherd. Who else is to blame? Blame not the wolf, but the one who lets him come nigh." He glared at the priest, then dropped his eyes. "Now here I am sitting ineffectually outside the fortress where my own dear love was born, knowing not what to do. I have her safe in my arms, and I send her off poorly guarded. Just as a sneak attack is planned. 'Tis as if I planned to bring the kingdom down around my own ears. If she is hurt, if she is dead.. I will not be able to live for the regret and guilt." He shook his head as the priest started to speak. "I know I was never meant to be King. It was my brother's right and destiny. But he died and it was left to me to take our father's throne. I have been King now for five years. What have I to show for those years, Father? War? The rape of my wife by my own brother? My dearest friend killed by a man I failed to bring to justice for his sister's murder, which I could have myself prevented? Now this? Methinks my kingdom might be better off if wiser more moderate men were in my place."

This time as he paused, clasping his hands together so tight that the knuckles were white, the priest did not let him stifle his words. "My lord, you must stop this. You are letting doubt color everything, seeing only the bad which you were not in fact responsible for. You do not see the good you have done. You are King by God's grace. To doubt yourself is to doubt Him. Pray, my lord, to God for answers. Let him guide you and your sword. Your people love you, your soldiers look up to you."

Lawrence had lifted his eyes to the priest's, seeking reassurance. "But, Father.. what of Josephine? What if I have lost her? What if I have sent her to her death? Before she left she said something about believing I should outlive her. What if she was right? And it is my fault?"

"My son," said the cleric with compassion in his voice. "You cannot know that. You do not even know if she is well or ill. You are allowing your soul to sink into despondency, and that is a sin. A grievous sin. You must ask God to forgive you for doubting yourself. For doubting Him. You will certainly condemn your people to misery if you sink into it yourself."

The King gazed into the priest's face. His look was plaintive. He let his thoughts turn inward and began to nod ever so slightly. "I must go to her, I must be sure she gets safe home to our children," he said to the priest, raising his eyes again.

The priest nodded. "You must look into your heart for what you must do. I pray that God goes with you."

He made the sign of the cross over Lawrence and indicated that they should pray together. He intoned, "Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum…" and the King joined him.

As he stood outside the small cottage preparing to set out,, Lawrence heard hoofbeats coming towards the camp in a gallop. He threw down a small rock he had been obsessively rolling about in his palm and rushed towards the sound.

He saw that the rider was another one of the escort He was exhausted from his ride through the day and night, and his horse was covered in the yellow foam of sweat and was snorting rough breaths. "Sire, the scout the escort sent ahead never returned! The captain has left guards with the Queen and gone to discover what happened to him!"

Lawrence swore. "Is the Queen well attended?"

"Four men at arms, sire, and the Irishman."

Lawrence swore again. "Useless. Edred, fetch the commanders," he said to his aide, who had come up just behind him. "And let us make that a full company of men. Methinks our supply road is under attack and must be made safe. I will command."

Lawrence instructed his commanders in keeping the fortress of Ratherwood under scrutiny, keeping the men from growing slack or losing vigilance while he was away. "It may be nothing and I will return in a few days. Or it may be an outbreak of the real war. I will dispatch messengers to keep you informed."

Soon the King was astride his horse, in full armor, and was about to press his troops onto the road.

Horsa held his stirrup. "My liege, I know I said you should not risk yourself for just the escort, but I was wrong. You know best what is in the interest of your kingdom. And now that we see that more is in play than a simple raiding party, God give you good speed to find the bastards and kill them. And God grant you find our Queen well and unharmed."

The King held out his hand to clasp his general's. "I thank you. I rely on you to see to it Malcolm cannot emerge to decimate the countryside. I shall return soon, I hope." Crossing himself, he spurred and the party set off east.

Next: No Sign of Her

New Stories: Fleeing South (Happened)

October 769

"But cannae we travel west to find the King's encampment?" the Irish bard asked the Queen as they rested in the hollow of the oak wherein they had hidden from the warriors of Sven Ormyngel, as they would later learn was his name.

"I do not know," Josephine replied. "The men I saw seemed to come from both directions of the Roman road. I do not know if even traveling through the countryside will be safe."

It had started to drizzle, and while the huge old tree sheltered the pair to a degree, the dampness of the woods around them and showers from wind-shaken leaves had them both well soaked. Neither was much inclined to optimism as they shivered. "Sure, and should we not at least try?" Shannon muttered.

"Let us wait until this rain stops. Then we can scout west. I just do not want to run across a party of enemy scouts or soldiers." The Queen's lips were pressed around her irritation. "You do not want to die, do you?"

"Och, at this point, at least Hell would be warm and dry," the bard complained.

Josephine started to remonstrate with him, but then could not help laughing. "So that is the explanation for your terrible behavior. You want to go to Hell so you can be warm."

Shannon smiled lopsidedly, then chuckled. "Well, right now, anyway. I am that fortunate I have not been absolved since last night."

Though the drizzle eased off and Josephine and Shannon could stiffly stand and stretch, walking outside the shelter of the tree hollow just added soaked leggings and shoes to their already damp clothing. "Which way?" the Queen asked.

Shannon got his bearings, then pointed off in the direction of a ravine. "That be west." The two started to slog through the mud and wet underbrush.

They were making steady if miserable progress when Shannon suddenly stopped. He put his arm back away from his body to halt Josephine as she walked beside him. "Horses," he whispered. They took cover where they could and waited.

"I do not know about this," Josephine whispered back after the sound passed and what few voices they heard were not speaking either Brythonic or Saxon. "Methinks there are scouts all around us. If they know we are here, they are looking for us. If not, they may still come across us.. and I have lost both my weapons."

Shannon grinned. "Ye still have your fair self."

Josephine smiled and squeezed his arm. "Shannon, I think we cannot go west. And I am certain the bridge has been taken as part of this offensive. I do not know if the King has even learned of this." She bit her knuckle as she thought. "I think we must go south and seek a crossing of the Trent nearer.. what is the name of that town, Hucknall?"

Shannon looked frustrated, but replied evenly enough, "Och, aye, Hucknall. I recall. I came thence on me way to Lincoln the first ere I came to Christenlande."

Josephine looked at him. "That was a long way around," she said as if chiding him.

"'Tis no matter where I go, folk like to hear me sing and will give me food, drink, a warm pallet and a warm wench… beggin' your pardon, lady." Shannon flashed an apologetic smile.

When the two judged they were safe from the scouts just passed, they put their heads together to plan their escape. "I seem to recall a small river not far that flows to the Trent but goes south at first. I do not know if 'tis the season for it to be navigated, but I suppose we shall have to find out." Shannon nodded, and the Queen led the way east towards where she remembered the river should be.

There it was, even nearer than her memory had told her, and it was full enough to travel. As she recalled, the river flowed south rather than east or north as most did that emptied into the Trent then the Humber and then the North Sea at Lawrencium. "If I thought we could be undetected, I would like to find a boat to take us all the way home."

She led the way south along the river's west bank until they came near a mill and a small farmstead. "Saints be praised," Shannon rasped. "A boat!"

Josephine saw it as well. It was beached on the bank near the river, above the waterwheel, and no one was around. Shannon did not hesitate, but looking around him, he dashed for the boat. "It looks like it will hold," he said as he pushed it to the water.

"We cannot take it! That is someone's boat!"

Shannon shook his head, "Which would ye rather go missin'.. this boat or the Queen and her remarkable bard?"

Josephine stood for a moment, then reached to the scrip on her belt and pulled out a silver coin. She looked about for a place to put it. Deciding on the indentation made in the bank by the keel of the little boat, she placed the coin on a rock and climbed in with Shannon, who had taken the pole lying beside the boat and was standing poling them into the flow of the river.

Thus the two, staying near the overhanging branches of trees were able to make their way south more quickly than they could afoot, and even found a place under a willow where they could tie up and sleep through the evening. By the second day from the attack and their flight, they had come to a space where the river seemed to widen and slow.

'We shall be after reachin' the Trent, methinks," said Shannon. "Time to tie up and take to our own feet again."

"I shall not mind the exercise," the Queen replied, then helped the Irishman tie up to a slender birch truck and climbed out, handing him his lute and then taking his free hand to be helped out of the boat.

"Wait here, me lady," Shannon said when she had both feet on the ground. He put a finger to his lips and slipped away.

Josephine, judging that she should stay where she could climb aboard and cast off in the boat if danger loomed, found a place to sit where she might see up and down along the bank of the river.

Some time later Shannon was suddenly back. "Put these on, me lady," he instructed , handing her a bundle of clothes.

"Why? I have clothes." Josephine took the bundle and shook it out, finding herself in possession of a rough woolen gown and linen apron, and seeing the head covering that had fallen on the ground.

"Me lady, ye cannae be seen dressed as ye are.. ye must disguise your birth. We can travel with less suspicion if we dinnae draw attention to you. To me, now, that would be good."

Josephine laughed, "You? Why?"

"Because, me lady, if they look at and listen to me, they willnae notice ye… save as some drab wench in me company." He winked at her.

Josephine saw the sense of his plan, and able to retain her own undergarments and leg wraps and shoes, she donned the simple garments after making Shannon swear not to look. "Alas, I have soiled the headdress when I dropped it." She wrapped it around her head, covering her golden hair completely. "Where did you get these clothes? I was not aware you were carrying coin."

He looked at her, reached down to pick up some wet earth, then stood before her. As he reached his muddy hand to her face, she flinched. "Me lady, ye must entirely look the part. Get used to being dirty. And I did not buy those clothes.. I stole them. Off some bushes where they were dryin'." Josephine started to protest. He stopped her, carefully streaking her face and clothes with mud and dirt. "Ye can send a coin or two to the owner when ye are safe." He gave her a commanding look.

The Queen stared back, twitching her nose with the discomfort of the mud splotch that was drying there. "We cannot go through the village, then, where these clothes may be recognized."

Shannon looked amused. "Me lady, have ye e'er looked at villagers as they go about their work of a day? "

"Of course I have. What mean you?"

He bowed and reached for her hand. "Come this way." He led her towards where they could hear the chatter of people at their simple tasks. Before they started down a path to where the people would see them, Shannon dropped her hand and told her to walk slightly behind him. "Speak to no one. Ye can be me cousin Fiona again, as when the wool merchant was about to expose ye."

Josephine fell back and followed, hoping the Irishman knew what he was doing. As they entered the edge of the little town, she made a point of looking at the women they passed, while Shannon grinned and greeted those who stopped and stared. Then she saw what Shannon had meant. There was no difference in the manner of dress of any of the women. Each wore just what she wore now.. the same dull colors, the same rough wool cloth, the same soiled head scarf. She was indistinguishable from all the other women.

"Goodwife," came the voice of a small girl from her ankles. "You have such pretty boots."

Josephine stopped realizing that her well made boots were nothing like the cloth wrappings and poor leather shoes of the people, or the bare feet of the children. She looked at Shannon with a frightened expression.

The Irishman had it well in hand. "Now, wee lass, that's how we make shoes in Ulster. This be me woman, and she must make me not ashamed. So good boots she has. Now, be a darlin' and let us pass in peace. "

The child stopped and looked up at him in astonishment. She started to say something, but then just turned and dashed to one of the cottages.

When they had passed through to the far side of the village otherwise unmolested, Josephine looked at Shannon with new admiration. "That was very quick," she acknowledged. "And I see why you were sure these clothes would not raise alarms. Now tell me, why did none but the child speak to us?"

Shannon replied, "They know 'tis war. They dinnae want any part of strangers, even a bard and his woman. That lass will probably be beaten for speakin' to ye."

"Nay, that cannot happen," she protested.

"It must, for otherwise she will ne'er learn to stay away from strangers. Ye dinnae know what peril these folk face daily. Her life may depend on it."

Josephine nodded sadly, wished there was some way she could send word to Lawrence that they were away and safe, and then just fell into step with Shannon heading for the fortress village of Hucknall in the south.

Outside Ratherwood the King was astride his horse, in full armor, and was about to press his troops onto the road. Edred was mounted, frowning, on the horse next to his, and Horsa held the royal stirrups. "My liege, I beg you to reconsider. This is not the time to leave your army. You put yourself in grave danger and the army in peril of loss of confidence."

Lawrence scowled down at the older man. "You will have to handle that, Horsa, for I am going after her. Methinks you will be better off without me." He spurred and the party set off east.

Next: Lawrence Learns of the Attack

New Stories: Supply Lines Are Cut ()Happened

October 769

fter overnighting in the guest house of a small abbey on the road to Lincoln, the party of empty supply wagons, the Queen and her bard, and their guard continued, anticipating arrival at the Cromwell Bridge by early afternoon. Josephine had decided to ride alongside the cart in which Shannon sat next to the driver, plucking at his lute and entertaining the company with raucous and often ribald songs so loved by soldiers.

In midmorning the leader of the guard began to slow his mount, then lifted his hand in a signal to halt. He turned and spoke to his second in command, and Josephine could see his look of worry from where she herself rode. She gave the bard Shannon a quizzical look, then spurred her horse forward to come up alongside the leader.

"Pray, why have we stopped? What is amiss?" she asked, as he noticed her and bowed his head to her in obeisance.

"Your grace," he answered in a worried voice, "have you not noted that we have not passed a guard shack in more than a league? They were posted evenly along this road, to protect the supply lines. There should have been one long ere this point."

The Queen nodded, then asked, "But the guards are also meant to ride to warn the next post if there is trouble or sign of the enemy, is that not so? The last post did not report any such thing."

The leader bowed his head again, this time in affirmation. "You are correct, my lady. Still it is strange." The man stared down the road in the direction of the bridge and Lincoln, considering. He turned to his second and ordered, "Take some men and ride ahead to the next post. There is likely some explanation." The man saluted him, then the Queen, gestured to several of his own men to follow, and the group road off at a brisk pace.

The leader turned back to the Queen. "We should rest here, your grace, until they return. With your leave," he completed.

"Of course," she replied. She crossed herself, then turned back to ride to Shannon. She told the driver and him that the wagons should be pulled to the side of the road and all should rest until a scouting party returned.

"What is the trouble, then?" Shannon inquired as he climbed stiffly off the wagon.

"Probably nothing amiss," Josephine replied, then walked with him to where a man at arms quickly spread his cloak for the Queen to sit in the shade of a tree. "The posted guards are simply not where they should be. The scouts will return with an explanation." She sat and Shannon, taking up his lute again, sat near her and began to strum a tune.

But the scouting party did not return. By the time the company should have been crossing the bridge into Christenlande, the leader of that company had grown alarmed about the fate of his lieutenant and his party. He walked over to where the Queen was waiting with her back propped against the bark of the tree and bowed.

"Your grace, I am much afraid of what this might mean. I would like to send you with some men back to the encampment and take the rest of my men forward to learn what is amiss."

Josephine shook her head. "I do not want to go back. I can stay here with men to guard the wagons. I do not wish to waste the time we have already taken getting this far. Go on, take your men and learn what has happened to the scouts."

The leader frowned but did not contradict her. "With your leave, then, lady, I will send some men back to tell the King what has impeded our progress."

Josephine had stood and now swept her chausses of bits of plant matter. She had chosen to journey to Lincoln in the clothing she had borrowed from her cousin, men's clothes, more suitable to a journey in a war setting. "Do that, then choose your men who will stay here. I shall await your news."

Reluctantly the man left the Queen and Shannon with the empty carts and a small force instructed to get her away back to the camp if there was any sign of trouble.

An hour or more passed. The day was hot, the men anxious, and Shannon suggested to the Queen that they walk down a gentle slope to where they could see and just hear a brook babbling. "No sense sittin' here in this sun."

The man left in charge of her reduced escort nodded his assent. "Stay in sight, and do not go into the brush. You should be safe enough down there, my lady."

So Josephine and Shannon made their way down to the brook side and sat where they could clearly see the guards and the guards could see them.

"Me lady, what d'ye think has happened?" the Irishman asked.

Josephine's face was grave. "I hope 'tis nothing more than a skirmish with a raiding party. There have certainly been many of those, my lord the king tells me. Then shall the force return and we can be on our way." She glanced through the wooded canopy to see the position of the sun. "I wish we could be on the road again, so that we might reach the bridge in daylight."

She had had to offer her hand as they came down the mild slope, as Shannon had had his lute held by the neck in one hand and did not have very good balance. She patted his shoulder now to reassure him. "What shall you do now, when we return to Lawrencium, I mean?"

Shannon started to pick pout a quiet melody as he replied. "Heather willnae have me, that I know. But I dinnae wish to leave to return to Ulster without Rory. I am that concerned about him."

The Queen nodded sadly. "I blame myself," she said, "for whate'er happens to him. He gave himself to spare me."

Shannon tried to smile. "Me lady, 'tis what he would wish to do. All he wants in life is to be your comfort and support. Naught ye could do would have changed anything. Whate'er he is enduring he does it for love of ye. I think ye knew that."

She and Shannon had never discussed Rory's great love for her. At times she had avoided time alone with Shannon so as to keep that mutual understanding from becoming open knowledge between them. Now he had brought it up. She sighed. "Aye, I know it. And how I wish it were not so…"

"Nonsense," Shannon retorted in his mildly insolent manner. "It gives ye pleasure."

Josephine glared at the man. "You are impertinent."

Shannon shrugged, "And that is no more a secret than Rory's love for you, me lady. I mean no disrespect. I have little patience with the customs of courtiers."

The Queen suddenly laughed. "Verily, that is indeed true. It makes my husband furious. I fear someday you two shall come to blows." She sobered, "Though I hope it never comes to pass, as I believe my lord would have an easy victory. But I shall never understand why you so little honor him."

Shannon laughed now. He made a sudden strike of a chord. "I honor him, me lady. I honor him greatly. But 'tis the honor and respect given of one man to another. The question, methinks, is does he honor me?"

She did not reply at first, then finally supplied, "He worries about you, Shannon. He worries that you are coming apart."

The man gazed at her surprised. "He does then?" He looked away for a moment. "Am I? I wonder."

Josephine reached to take the hand that was poised over the strings of the lute. "Oh Shannon, I wish there was aught I could do to help you."

There was a shout from the road above them. They turned quickly to see the commander of the small escort starting to run to warn them. With horror they saw him jerk forward and fall with an arrow in his back. "Oh my dear God!" Josephine cried. They heard more cries and shouts.

"Come away," Shannon rasped at the Queen, grabbing her elbow with his free hand as they both stood. She shot him a look, then nodded. The two took the stones that jutted out of the brook more sure-footedly than they might under calmer circumstances. In no time they were across it and heading deeper into the woods, praying that no one had seen them before they fled.

Josephine was astonished at how quickly and certainly Shannon led her into the underbrush. He was clearly panning ahead of them for the best hiding place or perhaps a path, she was unsure. At length, with the sounds of a mismatched battle behind them becoming fainter, he suddenly tugged her to the side and pulled her with him into the hollow of a very old oak. He started to pull brush to cover them, and the Queen followed his lead. When they had obscured their hiding place and calmed their breathing, she remarked, "Mayhap my lord and I have naught to concern us.. where did you learn to do that?"

Shannon grimaced. "When your Da is drunk and bent on killin' ye, ye get to know how to find a hidin' place he knows not of."

The Queen reached a scratched hand to his equally scratched cheek and gave him a look of deep sorrow.

They waited in the hollow, listening, and when footsteps seemed to come near, and a man's voice shouted in a language they did not understand, they thought their refuge had been discovered. Instead some other hapless person, no doubt one of their own guards, had been the quarry. From the noises that followed the man breathed no more. The footsteps retreated, the sound of a heavy burden being dragged with them, and Josephine and Shannon were again alone.

It was then that Shannon seemed to droop. He had been intent on sounds and sights until that point, but now he muttered miserably in Irish. Josephine put an arm around his shoulder and let him rave. When he calmed, she said, "It may be just us twain now. What shall we do, think you?"

He stared at her unbelieving. "Ye ask me, me lady?" When she nodded, he thought for a while. "Och, well, we should make certain that what we think happened did happen. Then if the worst is true, we must find some other way to get home." He hesitated. "Shall I go see?" His eyes showed his near panic.

Josephine pulled her arm to where she could rub his back with her hand. "Nay, I shall. I have seen the results of battle. I shall spare you that enduring image."

Feeling ashamed, the bard let the woman stand and creep back to the brook and the slope.

She went carefully and slowly, not wanting to stumble on an enemy, until she was secreted some way down the road and could look back without being seen. She saw the last of the enemy horsemen starting to ride along the road towards the bridge crossing the Trent. When they were out of sight around a bend forced by a huge boulder near the road, she crept closer to the scene she had left just hours ago to sit by the brook with Shannon. The draught animals had been unharnessed and the carts tumbled down the gentle slope where they lay overturned. The animals and horses were gone, and now all that was left were the bodies of the guards and the drivers.

The Queen shuddered. The only reason to kill the drivers would be if they resisted, which was unlikely. They would have been more likely to run. The men must have been killed out of anger that the carts were empty. Their positions lying at a short distance from the place the carts had been seemed to suggest that they had, in fact, been fleeing when struck down.

Looking about her and staying as much in shadow as she could, she moved up to the corpses of the guards. From the blood on some swords, she knew they had wounded enemies, but every one of the men who had stayed behind with her was dead. She crossed herself and knelt to say a prayer, then followed the path of the carts to where they now lay. The men's weapons had been gone, along with what armor they had had. And with her horse she knew her beloved sword and her bow and sack of arrows were gone too. She tried to drag the bodies of the men out of the sunlight to the edge of the shaded road, but she found she could not handle their deadweight and gave up the effort. She looked at them, tears in her eyes, then prayed once more.

"I am sorry," she whispered. "I am so sorry."

She glanced down the road in the direction of the King's encampment, but hearing the sound of hooves, ducked again into cover. She hoped to see Lawrence at the head of a quickly advancing party of armed men coming to their aid. But instead with horror she saw a man with long tangled pale hair and a plaited beard. In the beard were tangled small bones like.. no they were human finger bones. They clacked as he rode past her hiding place. She had never scene his banner before, a triangle with a serpent of some kind.

Thinking about how Lawrence would react when he did learn of the destruction of the plans to keep his camp supplied from Lincoln and to get her home to their children, she glanced once more down the road in each direction, then began the slow trudge back to tell Shannon what she had seen. And to decide what to do.

Next: Fleeing South

New Stories: Rory's Next Choice (Happened)

Mture Content.

Late September 769

ory McGuinness sat on the straw on the floor of the shed he had been ushered into the night of his arrival at Hucknall with O’Donnell. He had piled some of the mildewing straw up to create some insulation against the increasingly chilly nights. He knew he must smell of the mildew and worse. It had been three days since their arrival. He wondered why O’Donnell had not sent the guards to drag him to his chamber. Had he mistaken his purpose after all? If so, what was the reason he was here?

The shed was built of vertical pieces of local wood lashed onto a wood frame and thatched with what was now damp straw. Being no more than a storage place no effort had been made to stop up the gaps with moss or mud. Not until now as Rory pressed wet straw in the worst offenders. There was no window, of course, for which he was grateful, but he could see enough of the courtyard of the fortress through the places where the wood slats did not come together. He had a bucket for his waste and was fed daily what looked like the soldiers’ same supper. Most of the time he sat in his warm corner trying to keep his body heat in.

Hucknall was much like Keito Uxello though larger. There was a stockade wall all about it. The main building was a great hall where O’Donnell and his commanders no doubt ate and slept. There were the usual outbuildings, a kitchen, animal sheds, a forge, a baking shed with an oven. He saw that the soldiers had put up rough huts for themselves, some thatched like the other buildings, some with turf in place of thatch. He heard Irish spoken all around him, as well as Saxon. He noticed one man over and over standing near the door of the hall watching his shed. The man was obviously of some rank from the way the men saluted him. He was dark haired, bearded, strongly built but tending towards short. Rory wondered about him, but could not guess what his purpose was in staring at Rory’s prison.

What Rory did wonder about most was O’Donnell, whom he had glanced several times in the courtyard. He had seen the long mustached Irishman glance with an unreadable expression over towards him, but then avert his face and hurry on his way. This simply added to the mystery of why O’Donnell, if he had wanted him to make him a lover, had not pressed his desires yet. Rory wondered when it would finally happen, then wondered what he himself would do. Would he submit in order to survive? Or would he refuse and no doubt die? Would he have any warning and be able to prepare himself? He had plenty of time to think, plenty of time to wonder. Master Ishaq was entirely discreet, but Rory like any other soldier saw men together often enough and had a good idea what men did when making love. He did not shudder as being a poet he had respect for all types of love, but he could not imagine wanting to do any of the acts he had witnessed. He knew he would not be able to.. respond. What would O’Donnell do if he couldn’t return lovemaking in kind? Or might he not feel the need for an active lover?

And would the man just take what he wanted, even if Rory refused. It happened to women all the time. It had happened to the Queen. It had happened to Rory’s own sweet mother.. and she had been killed afterwards. Why could it not be with this sort of man as well, to take what he wants by force? Rory tried to close his mind to the images that filled it, but found he could not.

On the fourth day when the soldiers came to empty his bucket and give him his meal, a third man followed them into the doorway of Rory’s shed. He was silhouetted against the light, but Rory recognized the shape of the man who had been watching him from the door of the Hall. The man waved a hand at the two soldiers and said in a Scots brogue, “Leave me with him. I will call when I need you to unlatch the shed. Leave me the light.” The men had bowed and gone out, shutting and latching the door.

Rory stayed in his corner on the ground, watching the man whose face he could now see in the lamplight. The man had a sympathetic face which now held a pitying expression. He looked about for a place to set the lantern, the squatted to speak to Rory on a level with his own face.

“So you are the beautiful Rory McGuinness that O’Donnell has told me of all these years. You do not look so beautiful at the moment.”

Rory reached up to the growth of beard on his face. “These are hardly the conditions for stayin’ clean and neat.”

The man nodded, “I know. I wish I could do something about that. O’Donnell bade the men feed and slop you but nothing else, and no visitors either. You are shivering. I will try to find a way to get you a blanket.”

“No visitors? Then how come ye here…” He let his voice trail off as an invitation to say more. “Ye ken me name, but will ye tell me yours, me lord?”

The man laughed. “Not lord, not anywhere near lord. I am Roddy MacDhui. I am O’Donnell’s chief commander.”

Rory nodded acknowledgement. “Well met, MacDhui. I have seen you watchin’ this shed of mine. Were ye that curious to see me ‘beauty’?” His voice was self-mocking. “I am thinkin’ ye know more of me history with the man. Do ye now?”

MacDhui sighed. “Aye, that I do.”

“Then mayhap ye can tell me something.” Rory stared frankly into MacDhui’s face.

“What he wants with you?” the Scot replied with a question.

“Not so much that as why he has not sent for me ere this.”

MacDhui scratched his beard and looked up towards the thatched roof. “You might well ask that, my friend.”

Rory waited for the answer.

“How do I say this? He will need to work himself up to confronting you. You do not know how intense his regard is for you. You are the one person I have e’er seen confound him. In fact, methinks he will have to get rather drunk ere he … sends for you.” MacDhui had a wry look on his face.

“Will I be warned ere he does send for me?”

The Scot chuckled. “Warned? Now ‘tis not all that bad.” He looked at the Irishman candidly. “IN fact, it can be quite wonderful.”

Rory shook his head. “Then ye are.. as well?”

MacDhui chuckled again. “In fact, I am the man’s lover. For these many years.”

“But he…?”

“And I suppose you have never known any other man who shares his lover with others? You cannot tell me that Saxon King is encamped lonely in his bed now.”

Rory’s eyes flashed. “He is completely true to his lady.”

“Well, be that as it may be, if it is true, I would hardly be the only person in the world who must bear rivals in my bed.” He looked hard at Rory. “Though this is different. I think you could supplant me. He is that much in love with you.”

“I am not in love with him, nor could I e’er be. I am not so drawn.” Rory stated it evenly, not defiantly. Then he asked, “Tell me then, if I may take your place why are ye here talkin’ to me and offerin’ me kindness?”

The Scot nodded. “’Tis that ye are not one of us that stirs me to help you. No one should be forced. I do not even think O’Donnell believes that. But he is overcome.” He shook his head thoughtfully. Then he looked back up at Rory. “You asked how you may know when the time comes? You will know, for someone will come to shave you and clean you up. But ere that you will hear O’Donnell shouting and singing as he swallows as much fortitude as he can. Now, may I ask you something?”

Rory was surprised at his permission being asked. “Of course, if I can tell ye. I willnae betray the Queen…”

MacDhui quickly said, “Nay, nay, ‘tis not that. I want to know.. what you will do when he sends for you?”

“I dinnae know,” Rory said miserably. “Common sense would say to endure it and live. But I am pledged to someone. I dinnae want to make love with the m an, and I dinnae want to be untrue to her, the lady I love.”

“Interesting dilemma,” MacDhui said ironically. “I can tell you that resisting will in fact be fatal. I know this man, and his pride will not brook rejection. We have to find a way to get you out of this…”

Rory had been staring past MacDhui to a rather large gap through which he could see movements in the courtyard. “O’Donnell is out there.”

MacDhui looked up sharply. “I had better cut this short. ‘Twould do you nor me any good should he know how long we talked. I will find a way to get you a blanket or a cloak. And I will try to be near when he calls for you. But I will not die for you nor shall I let him be killed. Remember that.”

Rory watched as MacDhui stood and peered through a crack into the courtyard. He called to the guards who let him out of the shed. Rory reached for his supper and ate.

Part II

Two days later as the dusk turned to twilight, Rory's prison was opened and he was led out to an outbuilding where a soldier shaved him and a serving girl cursorily bathed him. He was given clean but simple clothes to put on. He was also handed a large horn of mead to drink. He could hear O'Donnell singing and shouting in the Hall.

Still completely at sea as to what he would do, he let himself be led to the Hall. He found himself in a large open room with a blazing hearth, the air thick with smoke that struggled to fit through a hole in the thatch. The hall was dim away from the fire. He could just make out that a cluster of men sat at the far end of the hall. The soldier who had brought him in gave him a shove with the butt of his spear and chuckled, "Have a good night, Ulsterman."

The second shove when Rory did not move forward was sharp and painful, so he went to the far side of the room where he could now see O'Donnell with MacDhui and several other men. They all seemed quite drunk besides MacDhui who was sitting stony faced by O'Donnell. O'Donnell himself was expansively telling the others of his days in the clan wars. They were all speaking Saxon.

When O'Donnell caught sight of Rory before them he lifted his drinking horn and called out in slurred words, "Ah, here he is, the poet, the bard, the teller of tales. Why don't you give us one,. McGuinness! Tell us about how Cuchullain got his name!'

The other men echoed the request, all but MacDhui who gave Rory the slightest of nods. Rory took a stance near the men and started in with the tale of how the hero, having killed Cullen's hound that guarded his grand house had offered to take its place, thus winning the name "Hound of Cullen" or Cuchullain. He told the story with his customary dramatic and ornate language, baying for the hound, boasting for the hero, and pleading for the bereaved master. The company laughed and cheered and lifted their drinking horns in salute. One called for a song after the tale, and Rory supplied three rousing war anthems.

O'Donnell looked more seriously at the tall singer and asked in a low voice, "Now how about a love song."

Rory stared at him a moment, then cleared his throat and sang one about Diarmuid and Grainne, of how they had eloped the very night Grainne was to wed the High King. At long last the King caught up with them, and Diarmuid was wounded sorely. Refusing to give the water from his own hands that would have cured Diarmuid, the King relented but arrived too late from fetching it to save him. Rory's audience were somber and sentimental after, except for O'Donnell who was staring fixedly at Rory.

"Leave us," he commanded the others. They coughed and rose, bowed to the high commander, then left him with Rory and MacDhui. O'Donnell shot a look at MacDhui that said, "What are you waiting for?" The Scot bowed his head, turned and left.

"Sit down," O'Donnell commanded Rory. "No, here, next to me."

Rory did as he was told. He sat stiff on the ledge around the walls of the Hall, looking out towards the fire. O'Donnell leaned back, somewhat away from Rory and looked at him. "You have a fine voice.. and you tell a story well," he said in Irish.

"Thank you, sir," Rory replied in the same tongue without looking at the man.

O'Donnell reached out one hand and touched Rory's hair. "You do not have any idea how long I have wanted this. You were a handsome boy, but oh how beautiful you are now. I think you may actually be perfect." He curled locks of Rory's hair around a finger. Rory did not move. "Since I saw you in camp during the war… I told you before that you took my breath away. It was more than just lust. That is easily slaked, even for men like me. It was a desire that went much further. I wanted you, but I wanted your heart and soul as well as your flesh."

O'Donnell sat forward now and reached to the cord on Rory's borrowed jerkin. He pulled it loose and reached in with his hand to caress Rory's neck and shoulder. He let his hand slide up to cradle the side of Rory's finely sculpted jaw. Rory closed his eyes and clenched his teeth.

O'Donnell asked humorously, "Is that tension from resisting me, or to resisting your own desire for me?"

Rory said plainly, "I do not and cannot desire you, Finn."

O'Donnell's face hardened, but then he smiled again. "You may think so. I may be able to change your mind." He slid closer to Rory and put the hand that had caressed Rory around his neck. He reached with his other hand now to caress Rory's chest and belly. "You are such a fine mixture of muscles and softness." He leaned to Rory and started to kiss his face, first his cheeks, then his forehead, then placed his lips against Rory's. Rory sat on, unmoved and unmoving. He was letting his body decide what he would do. He felt it pushing the man away, though not yet literally fighting him.

O'Donnell, feeling the rigidity of Rory's mouth, pulled his own face back just enough so he could look him in the eye. "You know, you do not have to want this. I can take you. I can hurt you terribly, so you will never be the same. I would rather you came to me in desire, but I will still have you even if you do not."

Rory sat still but for the first time he returned O'Donnell's gaze. "Then you will have to do that, for I am pledged and will not be with you willingly, nor do I want you, never wanted you, and shall never want you. Even if I was drawn that way, I would never want a man so crude and savage."

O'Donnell reared his head back and slapped Rory's face hard. "You want savagery then?" the older man demanded. He grasped Rory's hand and put it on his bulging manhood. "Feel that? You will be feeling that many times and many ways tonight."

Rory started to try to pull his hand away, feeling the man's erection turgid against his palm. But he stopped and let himself relax a little. He relaxed his hand and gently clasped O'Donnell's phallus. He started to stroke it.

O'Donnell looked at him astonished, then smiled. He half closed his eyes. "I knew it, I knew it, you will want me, want me as much as I want you." He sighed as Rory's hand began to rub his phallus with a firmer grip. O'Donnell moaned with pleasure.

Then Rory slipped his hand under the man's tunic and grasped his naked member. O'Donnell gasped, first with pleasure, and then with pain as Rory grabbed his balls and squeezed them with all his might. O'Donnell's gasp turned into a howl of pain, then a scream of rage. Too soon not to have been right at the door, MacDhui rushed in with his sword drawn and reaching Rory he put the point of the blade to his throat. Rory had already withdrawn his hand.

MacDhui glanced at O'Donnell and could tell by how he leaned over with his hands on his groin and a paroxysm of agony going through him what Rory had done. O'Donnell demanded, his voice constrained almost to a squeak, "Take him away. Put him in that shed. I will deal with him as he deserves later."

MacDhui grasped Rory by the arm and pulled him out of the Hall. Soldiers were rushing towards them, looking to the Scot for an explanation. "Get back to your posts or beds!" he commanded in a voice that would not tolerate any questions. He waited while a guard unlatched the shed door and then tossed Rory in onto the floor. "You have a death wish, I see," he snapped. "If you have hurt him permanently, I will kill you ere he has a chance to."

Rory did not look at him but sank into himself, knowing that he would be lucky if O'Donnell just killed him.

MacDhui slammed the door shut and latched it. Outside his expression changed to anguish. He rushed back to the Hall,. To O'Donnell, to take the rage the man would feel on himself, and do whatever he could to help him out of his pain.

Next: The Execution of Rory McGuinness

New Stories: Talking Over Siege Strategy (Happened)

Late September 769

When Josephine woke her first thought was that she was having the wonderful dream she had had of late that she was waking in Lawrence's arms. She tried to push away the light coming through the one tiny window and the sounds of the camp so she could drift back into that dream. Then with a start and a smile she realized the warmth and solidity next to her was in fact her husband. She opened her eyes and looked up at his face. He was still asleep, his face slack and youthful in slumber. She pulled herself up so her face was on the level with his and pressing her body against his arm leaned over to kiss him.

Lawrence woke with an expression that swiftly shifted from surprise to pleasure, and he put his arms around her and kissed her back. They were both naked under the rough blankets and heavy furs. They had made love during the day before some time after the Queen had arrived from hiding to the camp, then again when they lay down to take their night's rest. Now in the early morning they continued to make up for lost time and heartache and made love again, more slowly and intently.

As they lay in each other's arms trying to wish away the need to stir themselves from this nest of sweet satisfaction, they heard a quiet rap at the door. "God damn," the King breathed. He kissed his wife on the forehead and said in a philosophical voice, "Well I suppose that was inevitable. Stay if you wish. I must see what I am needed for.. that is, by everyone but you, my love." He rose and pulled on his clothes. With a look back at her as she too rose to dress, he let himself out of their separate space to the main room of the cottage, then went to the latched door to step outside into the chill air.

It had been Edred, his aide de camp, at the door, and the King acknowledged his bow, then went to relieve himself. Edred waited patiently until Lawrence had come back to him.

"Sire, I am sorry if I was interrupting.."

The King put a hand on his shoulder. "'Tis all right, Edred. You need say nothing."

He let Edred help him arm, then turned to see Josephine coming out, dressed in the riding gown she had brought from her refuge in the mountains. He smiled and went to her, kissed her, then told her, "I will be riding about the fortress for a while. We need to look at any changes in the guard or the structure. I would like if you could join the strategy discussion when I am back. You know Ratherwood better than any of us here, having grown up there."

"Might I not come with you, lord? It might jar my memory some," she asked.

He seemed to start to shake his head, but then he thought about the sense of her words. "Edred, pull together a larger guard this morning."

As Edred bowed and turned to follow his orders, Josephine asked, "Is that for me?"

The King looked into her eyes seriously. "Aye, for you but also because of you. You are too dear a prize. If Malcolm sees you with us, he may send out a large party of his own. We must be ready."

"Has he sent out attack parties ere this?" she asked, looking over the remains of the huts across the road at the palisades of Ratherwood.

"Small ones, mostly intended it seems to harass us. There have been no serious wounds on our side. And I think not on theirs either. I am baffled by this strategy. Why sit inside the walls and stare at us camped here. Eventually they will want for provisions. Why not come out and fight?" Lawrence shook his head. He was looking in the same direction she was. "Ah, look, can you see there? That is Malcolm himself. Of course I cannot understand what he is trying to communicate…"

Malcolm was gesticulating wildly but to no purpose as far as either Lawrence or the Queen could detect. "Do you think they know I am here?"

Lawrence smiled at her question. "It would be hard to miss that you are. The camp was in an uproar yesterday with cheers and huzzahs. Why else would that be?"

The Queen rode, her sword and bow ready to hand, in the middle of the party that began its sun-wise circuit of the fortress walls. On occasion one of the men would point to a spot and comment on some slight change. To the garrisoning, the smoke of the fires in the courtyard, some other minute difference. Lawrence listened attentively, nodding and making his own observations.

Josephine spurred her horse to ride next to him. 'What will these observations tell you, my lord?"

"Sometimes.. most times.. nothing. But there is the chance that we will see signs that they are under greater stress." He sighed. "Though seeing us like this everyday they are no doubt prepared. I do wish I had access to any Roman military writings about sieges. They are so uncommon…"

Josephine nodded. "Then what you want is either for them to come out and face you in a shield wall, or for you to get inside… but could you fight them inside?"

He shook his head. "I would liefer not. But if we could get someone inside to open the gates, we might at least do some damage."

He noticed Josephine's thoughtful look. "What is it?"

"Wait, I am not certain. I will know more when we reach the point where the river is close against the walls."

Lawrence looked at her with interest. "I knew you would have something to add."

As the party made the round to the short side of the fortress that abutted the River Don, Josephine seemed to peer more closely at the foundations of the walls. Her husband and the other men who were part of the daily tour looked from her to where she was examining some stone piers that kept the vertical timbers out of the river water. At last she said," I shall not point as we do not want Malcolm there to see what we are looking at. But see the pennant on the right, the one that is torn? Now look down from it to the pier footing and then a finger's width to the left. Now down to the water. Do you see that dark hollow?"

One of the younger men saw it first. "Aye, my lady, I do. Is it a tunnel?"

Josephine turned her horse so that she faced at an oblique angle from the walls of the fort. The others took her cue and did the same, preventing anyone on the fort's palisades from seeing the focus of the ensuing discussion.

"Nay, not a tunnel, not exactly. This is the oldest part of the fortress, from after it was started upon the site of old earthworks. Ratherwood was built near tombs of the Old People, but the ground was much increased over them. My mother thought it was much bad luck to do this, but it had been done before she wed my father and nothing would or could be done. But as children, my sister and brother and I would explore around those foundations. We would be punished if found, for the river can take you ere you know you are wet."

She shook her head at the memories. "Lulla and Lorin found the passage. I did not find it but I did go into it once. It frightened me so I would not play there any more. Lorin could tell you where it is. He and our sister were exploring there one day, under part of the stone pier where the dirt had washed away. The ground collapsed and Lorin fell in. Being children, he and Lulla did not cry out or scream.. but held their breath so as not to give the secret away. Lorin had fallen into a tomb. We judged that the river must have not lain in the same bed when the tombs were built. For there was a passageway that led towards the river, but low, under its edge. It was stopped up but had we had a way to push through we could have gone outside the fortress by it.. when the river was at its lowest. At any other time the passage would fill with water. It is half underwater now as it is."

It was all Lawrence could do to keep from whipping his head around to look at the hollow place. "What is that dark hollow then?"

Josephine laughed. "We tried to dig from the outside in. That's as far as we got. Lorin can tell you more, and tell you where it opens inside. I did not go there after the first time."

Lawrence put his hand on hers. "I will send to Lorin. But tell me, why did you not go back?"

"It was a tomb, my lord! I was afraid of the dead! I was only ten years old!"

The party went on as close to the river as they might, then rode back upriver to where their horses could ford it. The hem of Josephine's riding gown was soaked. "Let's get you warm and dry. I will call together the commanders and discuss this information. Please join us when you can." He smiled at her as they crossed the bridge not far from the camp. "And thank you, my lady."

She did change into her trouse and jerkin that she had worn while in the mountains, then she did rejoin the king and talked over the inner structure of the fortress with the war council. She was able to point to the map they had constructed and refine many things that others could not. She also could describe the interior of the buildings at least from long memory.

Discussing the passage, she explained again that the only time one could enter would be when the river was low enough that the passage would not be deep in water itself. Edred suggested that they talk to some of the villagers to learn more about the river's habits.

At one point she looked up and asked her own question. "Why do you stay here, my lords? Why do you not find and fight the other commanders, like O'Donnell and Ricbeorht and Sven? And Elerde," she added.

Lawrence looked at Horsa to answer her question. "My lady, we do not have the forces. We are guessing that the others will draw into their fortresses just the same as Malcolm, and then we will be too thinly spread. But we do have a plan."

Lawrence nodded. "You will take a message to your brother asking him to go to Eoforwic to speak with Aethelwald Moll. We have reason to believe that Mercia is aiding the usurpers. Aethelwald will be very interested in that fact. He is no keener on Offa pushing into Northumbria than we are at what he's done here. He will give us spearmen and warriors."

Botopher added, "If I were to be asked, my lady, I would say the entire strategy employed by Malcolm and his cronies is to make us sit and wait for encounters. They are making us choose whether to spread out our forces too much. That we have chosen to stay put here leaves the rest of the country vulnerable, but it stymies that plan. Or so I hope."

"So do we all." The King put his arm around Josephine's shoulders. "So do we all."

Botopher continued, "What other tricks they have in store for us, that I cannot guess."

A man at arms came up to the group and whispered into Edred's ear after bowing to the King and Queen. Edred nodded and turn back to his liege lord. "My lord, we can have the escort for the Queen to Lincoln ready sometime tomorrow, with your leave."

Lawrence and Josephine each felt the other's body register the news. They could only have another night together, so little more. Lawrence looked down at her ruefully. "So soon."

She put fingers to his lips. "Hush, now, and remember that I will soon be with our children. And we will be waiting for you, my love, to come home to us as soon as you may."

Lawrence took her hand from his lips and kissed the fingertips. He nodded sadly. "It will be good to know you and they are safe. It will allow me to fight with my mind fully on the foe."

The others looked on with a variety of emotions, regret, sympathy, and relief.

Next: Rory's Next Choice

New Stories: Time Together (Happened)

Late September 769

Lawrence left the cottage first later that afternoon to save Josephine the embarrassment of the gleeful looks from the soldiers but could not spare her ears from the cheering. His stern look of approval only earned him the rough laughter of fighting men, so he smiled, then beamed, and went to find the men who had accompanied the Queen back from her hiding place.

Ethelberga smiled to herself as she rapped softly on her own cottage door, then entered to see if the Queen needed anything. She found her frowning but otherwise making no comment about the rowdiness of the camp. The old woman bowed and said, "It is inevitable with such a large number of men all together."

Not that the camp was made up only of men. The womenfolk of many of the soldiers, especially the levies, came with them on a campaign, along with any children, to care for their men and stay by them. Some fought as well. The King had been among the only men in the camp who had not had a wife or a local woman warming his belly at night. All Lawrence needed to do when tempted was first picture his Josephine's face, then the Breton Elerde's to resist, not wanting to share the Queen's place in his bed any more than he wanted another man to take his in hers.

After the King had escorted his wife to the cottage to bathe and rest, he had sought out her cousin Ioruert to learn all he could about the resistance force in the mountains and about the movements of O'Donnell's, the Breton's and other enemy forces since the takeover in the spring. Now he simply wanted to reward the men who had braved a dark midnight rescue behind enemy lines to bring his wife safe back to him. He found Botopher with his elite housecarls at their own campfire and joined them as the light started to lessen towards dusk. He clapped Botopher on the back, clasped forearms with each of the men, then liberally gave out silver arm rings and gold and iron rings for their fingers and beards, the traditional gifts of a Saxon warlord.

On his casual walk back to the great fire near his borrowed cottage, Lawrence ran across the Irish minstrel, Shannon, who had been with the Queen in Affynshire before the country had fallen to the usurper Malcolm of Horsfort and his confederates. He called to the Irishman to come to the fire and share a pot of ale and some conversation about the puzzling event of just a few days before. He noticed Shannon had a troubled face.

"Shannon, can you shed light on this strange occurrence involving McGuinness?" He poured warm ale from a clay pitcher that sat in the coals of the fire and handed it to the dour minstrel.

Shannon sat for a few minutes, holding the pot of drink in both his hands. He stared at the fire. "I spoke with Lord Ioruert and heard what transpired as much word for word as he was after bein' able to tell me. I cannae say for certain what was in O'Donnell's mind, but I do think I be knowin'."

He paused and the King pressed. "What is it? That he had the Queen in his hands and chose to make a bargain with McGuinness to have him take her place is a complete puzzle to me. Praise God that he did, but what heavenly or hellish impulse inspired him?"

Shannon chuckled wryly. Neither heavenly nor hellish, methinks - but inspired by some other gods than those who rule those places. My liege, Rory and I knew O'Donnell long ago, when we were but lads. He was a... friend of our master in music, Ishaq the Andalusian. Then years later, so Rory told me, he and O'Donnell met again when both fought in the Ulster wars."

Lawrence nodded, "The war was between their two clans, was it not?"

Shannon took a drink and nodded. "Aye, but O'Donnell was a sword for hire e'en then and fought against his own. He fought alongside Rory and the O'Neill clan and the clans of O'Neill's allegiance."

Lawrence frowned. He understood the need for mercenary warriors, but he did not care for those who took the side of their own people's enemies. Elerde's shift of loyalty from Críslicland to Malcolm sharpened his condemnation, though Lawrence himself had released the Breton from his bow to serve himself. "I still do not understand. What is the connection other than that?"

Shannon seemed to struggle with revealing some fact. He finally sighed and explained. "My lord, our Master Ishaq loved men. I do not mean he was of good will. He was that, but 'tis not what I mean. He preferred to make love to men. And O'Donnell had been one of those men. O'Donnell was little more than a lad then, but certainly of age to make a choice of his own. I often thought he fancied Rory.."

Lawrence looked up sharply, "Rory? Is Rory..?"

Shannon shook his head. Nay, he is not. But ye must admit 'twould not be that hard to think so. Especially if ye wanted it to be so."

"If you wanted what to be so?" came Josephine's light voice from behind them. She saw both men frown when they turned to her. "What is it, my lord? Is it about Rory?" She was frowning herself now. Lawrence moved over on the log he was sitting on so she could sit between them. She accepted the warm pot of ale Shannon poured for her and took her place. "If it is about Rory, I have a right to know, my lord. He sacrificed his freedom for mine. No one else's."

Lawrence looked reluctant to say any thing, and Shannon looked grim. The King saw a familiar flash in his wife's eye, even in the growing gloom, and put his arm around her shoulder. "Shannon thinks 'tis possible that O'Donnell wanted McGuinness.. for a bed partner."

Josephine stared at her husband, not speaking.

Shannon thought the Queen was uncertain what he meant. "O'Donnell prefers men to women, my lady, beggin' your pardon.."

She shot a look at him. "I know about that. About men who love other men, I mean. I am not a child." She looked back at her husband. "But Rory is not a man like that. If anyone knows that, I do." She instantly regretted her words as Lawrence glanced down with a dark look. "I just mean I know he loves women… not any particular.."

Lawrence waved one hand, "And I too know what you mean, and Shannon says 'tis true. But it seems that matters not to O'Donnell. He has some.. attachment."

Josephine looked back at Shannon, who was poking at the edge of the fire with a long piece of firewood. "An attachment?"

Shannon explained again about Master Ishaq and O'Donnell. "Both the Master and O'Donnell thought that Rory might be inclined the same way as they. That is one reason that me darlin' friend left us. He dinnae want to confront the possibility. He was just a lad. He told me later when he had satisfied himself of his own love of women he met O'Donnell again, in the clan war. O'Donnell seemed more taken with him than ever."

The three sat on, each staring into the flames. The Queen finally broke the silence. "Then what we are saying is that it may be that O'Donnell wanted Rory more than he wanted whatever reward he would get from my capture. This is indeed extraordinary."

Lawrence nodded, then asked Shannon, "But what will Rory do? 'Tis not his nature. How can he fulfill the bargain."

Shannon simply returned a baleful look.

Josephine's jaw dropped, "Oh no, do you think O'Donnell would?"

Lawrence pulled her close. "Men will do that when power is their aim. You know that as well as anyone, better in fact." He was thinking of his own brother's rape of the Queen many, many years before.

"I should not think 'twould be as easy, but a stronger man can no doubt over power a weaker one…" She stared into the fire, then stated with certainty, "I do not believe Rory would allow it."

Lawrence noted Shannon's sudden pained expression. "What is it, Shannon?"

Shannon did not look at the pair as they stared waiting for his explanation. "I dinnae think he will either. And that be what is after worryin' me."

Josephine simply sighed, "Oh dear," and hugged Lawrence's arm closer. "Would O'Donnell kill him?"

"Most definitely, with more than one reason at that. Rory is after all.. a spy."

Lawrence buried his face in his hands. "Dear God," he breathed, and Josephine put her hand on the back of his neck and massaged it.

"Can we try to rescue him?" she asked, but without any expectation.

Lawrence looked into her face, then reached to touch her cheek. "Nay, my dearest. We cannot spare the number of men it would take to find him and free him. This was what, a sennight ago he went with O'Donnell? Then he is most likely already at Hucknall Hall. We could not take that fort."

Rory was in fact riding with O'Donnell's men to the Hall at that moment. O'Donnell was a careful man when sleeping in camp, but soon they would be within the walls of the fortress. Then he would have to face the man, and he wondered if he would live to tell about it. He saw O'Donnell's covert glance at him, as full of uncertainly as he himself felt.

Next: Talking Over Siege Strategy

New Stories: A Royal Reunion (Happend)

Mature Content.

Late September 769

Lawrence's head shot up from the campfire as he heard a slowly growing chorus of cheers and shouts coming from the west. Though lack of any sleep the night before had fuddled his brain, it came clear and sharp again and he stood and started to stride briskly in the direction of the sound. The men who saw him pass smiled and nodded and called to him, "She is come at last!" He met each one with a broad toothy smile.

The night had been as dark as he could have hoped. No moon, but also no stars provided light as clouds had seemed to come specially to shade any sign of the Queen's passage from her wooded, mountain hiding place back to her husband's long empty arms. The King had not been able to sleep, but had held as still as he could the better to hear any sign of the rescue party's coming. The old woman, Ethelberga, had stayed awake too, making the one small separate chamber of the cottage she lent to the King as tidy and comfortable as a billet in an army camp can be.

As the King strode through the camp to its western edge, the red haired Irish minstrel joined him, skipping to keep up. Shannon's promise to be with the rescue party that brought Josephine here had been foiled by the fact that he could not and would not ride. The small force, led by Earl Botopher, had needed speed so had left him behind. Nevertheless he was congratulating himself for the smile on Lawrence's face for which he felt at least in part responsible.

It was the cheering that had told the King and Shannon that Josephine's rescue had been successful. The men of his army saw their mission in Affynshire at the very least to effect her return and then to retrieve the sovereignty of her childhood home. They would fight alongside their warrior king, but it was in the name of the Queen they fought.

At the edge of the camp Lawrence, with his captains close beside and Shannon a few paces further, stopped as the lead horsemen came into the circle of tents. He walked around to the third horse which carried his young, golden-haired wife. She reined in her mount and beamed at him. As he approached her he laughed at her garb: a woodsman's garb, not a Queen's.

"Shannon was right. You are a vision in trouse," Lawrence said as Josephine leaned far out of her saddle to put her arms around his neck. He spoke no more as her lips touched his. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her the rest of the way down to the ground without breaking the embrace.

He felt her soft warm lips on his and breathed in the longed for and beloved scent of her.

She reveled in the feel of his strong arms around her, not squeezing but tight and secure and comforting.

The moment of quiet when the two first locked eyes broke in a wild torrent of cheering.

On the castle parapets Malcolm peered down at the Crísliclandian camp. "What is it?" he demanded of his aide.

The younger man whose eyes were sharper said quietly "I believe the Queen has been restored to her husband, my lord."

Malcolm glowered. "God damn Elerde.. and O'Donnell! How could they let her slip through their hands. And damn this siege, or my spies could tell me." He glared through the morning light as he saw the gathering of men start to move towards the little cluster of cottages and ruins of cottages conducting the King and his lady into the heart of the camp. "Well, I am not finished yet. I have one more chance to capture her."

Back in the camp Lawrence walked with his arm around Josephine's shoulders, as she leaned her body and head against him. Each wore a smile identical to the other. Their glances into each other's eyes, hers with her chin tilted up and his with his chin almost on his breast, revealed no awareness of others around them. "God, Jo, I missed you."

The Queen just smiled and leaned against him again, tightening her own arm around his waist.

Shannon came skipping up and Josephine dropped her arm to lean to embrace him. This made Lawrence look up, and he realized for the first time that his wife's cousin Ioruert strode behind them. He clasped the fighting man's arm in a hearty greeting. "Well met, cousin. Where are Cingen ad Ruallauh?" The King looked over his head to see if the others were coming along.

In a voice pitched so as not to disturb the Queen's affectionate greeting with Shannon Ioruert replied, "Cingen stayed behind. Ruallauh has been taken by Elerde to Horsfort."

The name "Elerde" caused a darkness to cross the King's face.

Josephine turned then hearing enough of what her cousin said,. "And my lord, the most extraordinary thing happened when Ruallauh was taken. They had me as well, but the Irish commander made an exchange.. me for Rory!"

Lawrence, whose eyes had shot back to her at the sound of her voice now shook his head. "Took Rory? I do not understand." Then realizing Josephine had been in the enemy's hands, he paled. He reached for her and pulled her to him. He saw Shannon's face, a mix of puzzlement and thoughtfulness evident there. "Shannon, what is it?"

"My liege, I dinnae know. I shall have to consider," the musician replied, but his voice carried a note of fear. He quickly bowed and murmured something about taking his leave for the nonce and melted away into the press of soldiers around the royal pair leaving them to look after him mystified.

Lawrence shook his head again. He looked down at the Queen. "That is the most extraordinary thing. I hope Shannon can enlighten us later. Come, let me show you to your bower, my lady."

"Aye, my love, please. I need a wash and a rest."

Ethelberga met them at the door of the cottage. She was smiling affectionately and had her hands clasped before her over her surcoat. She bowed to the Queen, and Josephine saw the hint of tears in the old woman's eyes.

Lawrence said, "My lady, this is our host, Ethelberga, who has been kind enough to let me use her cottage as a headquarters. And I sleep here too."

Josephine leaned to draw Ethelberga up from her respectful position and pulled the old woman to her in an embrace. "Have you been taking care of my husband, Ethelberga?"

Ethelberga laughed. "As well as he will allow me, my lady," she answered.

"Then we have that challenge in common. May I get some hot water to wash?" Josephine sighed. "I feel like I have not bathed in months.

Ethelberga winked at the King who had asked for just such a luxury the night before, to be fit to receive his Queen. "I shall fetch hot water for you straight away, dear lady."

Josephine went through the low door into the main room of the cottage, followed by the King. She let her eyes adjust to the dim light, feeling Lawrence's arms come around her from behind. She leaned back. "Can you wait, my darling?" she yawned.

Lawrence kissed the top of her head and said softly, "I can wait."

They stayed standing like this until Ethelberga came in with two men who were carrying a large pot full of hot water. The King kissed his wife and then said, "I will come back while you are resting."

It was a struggle for Lawrence not to go back to the cottage to look in and make sure Josephine really was there. He held off as long as he could force himself to and then made excuses to men bearing knowing smiles and headed for the door. Ethelberga was outside sitting on a bench and spinning wool. "She is fast asleep, my lord. But I know she would want you to go in."

Lawrence pushed through the door and shut it behind him. Ethelberga quietly shifted her bench so it blocked the door to any who might disturb the couple.

The King stood inside the door listening to what tiny sounds he could hear. As he approached the screen that divided out the sleeping area, he heard a soft voice. "My lord?"

He came around the screen to see Josephine lying on her side on the straw bed. She had one arm up under her head. The covering was up to her underarms. "Sweetheart," Lawrence breathed.

She smiled and reached for him, letting the cover fall away to show her bare breasts under it. Lawrence loosed his sword belt and dropped it on the hard clay floor. He kneeled by the bed and leaned over to wrap her in his arms and kiss her tenderly.

"I will need someone to get my one gown from the saddle bag. It was all I had with me when we had to flee."

Lawrence had sat to pull off his boots. He looked around at her. "You look perfect to me now."

Josephine smiled and stretched, making the King shove his boots off faster. He stretched out alongside her on the straw bed. "Dearest, this is hardly a bed fit for a Queen," he said as he started in hungrily to nuzzle her neck.

She replied by asking, "Is the King in this bed? Then it is fit for the Queen." She wrapped her arms around his neck. They made love like starving people offered their first food in many days. Many words of longing and love and relief were uttered. After they lay in each other's arms and stroked each other's backs.

"My dearest, I will want to get back to the children."

Lawrence laid silent for a moment, sad to have the idyll swept away by her words. "Aye, you must. Only stay until I can put together a guard for you."

Josephine kissed his now bare chest. "Mmmm, and how long will that take?" There was a note of amusement in her voice.

"As long as I can possibly make it last," he said, and they laughed.


Late September 769

Lawrence's head shot up from the campfire as he heard a slowly growing chorus of cheers and shouts coming from the west. Though lack of any sleep the night before had fuddled his brain, it came clear and sharp again and he stood and started to stride briskly in the direction of the sound. The men who saw him pass smiled and nodded and called to him, "She is come at last!" He met each one with a broad toothy smile.

The night had been as dark as he could have hoped. No moon, but also no stars provided light as clouds had seemed to come specially to shade any sign of the Queen's passage from her wooded, mountain hiding place back to her husband's long empty arms. The King had not been able to sleep, but had held as still as he could the better to hear any sign of the rescue party's coming. The old woman, Ethelberga, had stayed awake too, making the one small separate chamber of the cottage she lent to the King as tidy and comfortable as a billet in an army camp can be.

As the King strode through the camp to its western edge, the red haired Irish minstrel joined him, skipping to keep up. Shannon's promise to be with the rescue party that brought Josephine here had been foiled by the fact that he could not and would not ride. The small force, led by Earl Botopher, had needed speed so had left him behind. Nevertheless he was congratulating himself for the smile on Lawrence's face for which he felt at least in part responsible.

It was the cheering that had told the King and Shannon that Josephine's rescue had been successful. The men of his army saw their mission in Affynshire at the very least to effect her return and then to retrieve the sovereignty of her childhood home. They would fight alongside their warrior king, but it was in the name of the Queen they fought.

At the edge of the camp Lawrence, with his captains close beside and Shannon a few paces further, stopped as the lead horsemen came into the circle of tents. He walked around to the third horse which carried his young, golden-haired wife. She reined in her mount and beamed at him. As he approached her he laughed at her garb: a woodsman's garb, not a Queen's.

"Shannon was right. You are a vision in trouse," Lawrence said as Josephine leaned far out of her saddle to put her arms around his neck. He spoke no more as her lips touched his. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her the rest of the way down to the ground without breaking the embrace.

He felt her soft warm lips on his and breathed in the longed for and beloved scent of her.

She reveled in the feel of his strong arms around her, not squeezing but tight and secure and comforting.

The moment of quiet when the two first locked eyes broke in a wild torrent of cheering.

On the castle parapets Malcolm peered down at the Crísliclandian camp. "What is it?" he demanded of his aide.

The younger man whose eyes were sharper said quietly "I believe the Queen has been restored to her husband, my lord."

Malcolm glowered. "God damn Elerde.. and O'Donnell! How could they let her slip through their hands. And damn this siege, or my spies could tell me." He glared through the morning light as he saw the gathering of men start to move towards the little cluster of cottages and ruins of cottages conducting the King and his lady into the heart of the camp. "Well, I am not finished yet. I have one more chance to capture her."

Back in the camp Lawrence walked with his arm around Josephine's shoulders, as she leaned her body and head against him. Each wore a smile identical to the other. Their glances into each other's eyes, hers with her chin tilted up and his with his chin almost on his breast, revealed no awareness of others around them. "God, Jo, I missed you."

The Queen just smiled and leaned against him again, tightening her own arm around his waist.

Shannon came skipping up and Josephine dropped her arm to lean to embrace him. This made Lawrence look up, and he realized for the first time that his wife's cousin Ioruert strode behind them. He clasped the fighting man's arm in a hearty greeting. "Well met, cousin. Where are Cingen ad Ruallauh?" The King looked over his head to see if the others were coming along.

In a voice pitched so as not to disturb the Queen's affectionate greeting with Shannon Ioruert replied, "Cingen stayed behind. Ruallauh has been taken by Elerde to Horsfort."

The name "Elerde" caused a darkness to cross the King's face.

Josephine turned then hearing enough of what her cousin said,. "And my lord, the most extraordinary thing happened when Ruallauh was taken. They had me as well, but the Irish commander made an exchange.. me for Rory!"

Lawrence, whose eyes had shot back to her at the sound of her voice now shook his head. "Took Rory? I do not understand." Then realizing Josephine had been in the enemy's hands, he paled. He reached for her and pulled her to him. He saw Shannon's face, a mix of puzzlement and thoughtfulness evident there. "Shannon, what is it?"

"My liege, I dinnae know. I shall have to consider," the musician replied, but his voice carried a note of fear. He quickly bowed and murmured something about taking his leave for the nonce and melted away into the press of soldiers around the royal pair leaving them to look after him mystified.

Lawrence shook his head again. He looked down at the Queen. "That is the most extraordinary thing. I hope Shannon can enlighten us later. Come, let me show you to your bower, my lady."

"Aye, my love, please. I need a wash and a rest."

Ethelberga met them at the door of the cottage. She was smiling affectionately and had her hands clasped before her over her surcoat. She bowed to the Queen, and Josephine saw the hint of tears in the old woman's eyes.

Lawrence said, "My lady, this is our host, Ethelberga, who has been kind enough to let me use her cottage as a headquarters. And I sleep here too."

Josephine leaned to draw Ethelberga up from her respectful position and pulled the old woman to her in an embrace. "Have you been taking care of my husband, Ethelberga?"

Ethelberga laughed. "As well as he will allow me, my lady," she answered.

"Then we have that challenge in common. May I get some hot water to wash?" Josephine sighed. "I feel like I have not bathed in months.

Ethelberga winked at the King who had asked for just such a luxury the night before, to be fit to receive his Queen. "I shall fetch hot water for you straight away, dear lady."

Josephine went through the low door into the main room of the cottage, followed by the King. She let her eyes adjust to the dim light, feeling Lawrence's arms come around her from behind. She leaned back. "Can you wait, my darling?" she yawned.

Lawrence kissed the top of her head and said softly, "I can wait."

They stayed standing like this until Ethelberga came in with two men who were carrying a large pot full of hot water. The King kissed his wife and then said, "I will come back while you are resting."

It was a struggle for Lawrence not to go back to the cottage to look in and make sure Josephine really was there. He held off as long as he could force himself to and then made excuses to men bearing knowing smiles and headed for the door. Ethelberga was outside sitting on a bench and spinning wool. "She is fast asleep, my lord. But I know she would want you to go in."

Lawrence pushed through the door and shut it behind him. Ethelberga quietly shifted her bench so it blocked the door to any who might disturb the couple.

The King stood inside the door listening to what tiny sounds he could hear. As he approached the screen that divided out the sleeping area, he heard a soft voice. "My lord?"

He came around the screen to see Josephine lying on her side on the straw bed. She had one arm up under her head. The covering was up to her underarms. "Sweetheart," Lawrence breathed.

She smiled and reached for him, letting the cover fall away to show her bare breasts under it. Lawrence loosed his sword belt and dropped it on the hard clay floor. He kneeled by the bed and leaned over to wrap her in his arms and kiss her tenderly.

"I will need someone to get my one gown from the saddle bag. It was all I had with me when we had to flee."

Lawrence had sat to pull off his boots. He looked around at her. "You look perfect to me now."

Josephine smiled and stretched, making the King shove his boots off faster. He stretched out alongside her on the straw bed. "Dearest, this is hardly a bed fit for a Queen," he said as he started in hungrily to nuzzle her neck.

She replied by asking, "Is the King in this bed? Then it is fit for the Queen." She wrapped her arms around his neck. They made love like starving people offered their first food in many days. Many words of longing and love and relief were uttered. After they lay in each other's arms and stroked each other's backs.

"My dearest, I will want to get back to the children."

Lawrence laid silent for a moment, sad to have the idyll swept away by her words. "Aye, you must. Only stay until I can put together a guard for you."

Josephine kissed his now bare chest. "Mmmm, and how long will that take?" There was a note of amusement in her voice.

"As long as I can possibly make it last," he said, and they laughed.

Next: Time Together

New Stories: Rory's Choice (Happened)

September 769

"The scouts say there is a good-sized company of men coming along the road with at least two apparent commanders," Ruallauh told his resistance force as they prepared to lay in ambush. "Ioruert's men at arms will be ready for them, but we archers need to be where we can pick off as many as possible, make them skittish and if possible, kill the commanders. I think the trees will be our best posts. We do not have much time. Get into position."

Josephine was among that company of archers, and now she went to the pile and took a supply of arrows already in a sack. This might be her last chance to help her cousins before the upcoming dark of the moon when Shannon said to be ready and waiting for the King's rescue party. She would do her utmost to make this last battle a success. She pushed away the thought that she might not make it through to that midnight meeting just several days away.

The Queen was in position in the crook of a tree limb when she first heard the distant sound of mounted men and armed marching men approaching. She knew that if there were commanders, more than one the young Earl had said, Elerde of Brittany could be among them. She pressed her lips together. She wondered if she would be able to ignore the devices painted on shields and sewn onto banners. With helmets it was possible, just possible she would not know him when she saw him. Then she hoped she would see the devices. No, she would not kill him, not unless it meant the life of one of her band, but she knew that he might die this day at the hand of someone else.

The archers were well hidden among the autumnal foliage of the forest. There was plenty of green in the mix, making the green and brown clothing of the men and women somehow more useful as cover than in the apex of summer. Each man and woman was in position, bows strung, arrows cocked, ready to draw the strings taut when an enemy came into site. Each one of the archers could loose and have another arrow ready very quickly, creating a seemingly unending and overpowering shower of deadly missiles on the unlucky soldiers. Ruallauh could do this even faster and with deadly accuracy.

Josephine heard the soft whistle from the foremost archer that signaled the nearing of the party. She wondered how they would manage if it was a larger force. It would depend on the archers to reduce the ranks. She had her share of kills now, and she knew she would have many more today. She began to hear the sound of the horsemen coming into the forest path, the sound of the hooves changing from the clack on beaten earth shifting to soft thuds on the leave thick path, the swish of branches and bushes against the sides of the horses and the soft oaths of men who were hit by the branches that snapped back into their faces. In another part of the woods not far away Ioruert, sword in hand, knew the terror the men must be feeling coming into the thick woods where anything could be lurking whether with arrows or claws or unearthly teeth to spill their blood to soak the matted leaves underfoot.

Josephine caught sight of the first movement. A small band of armed men on foot led the rest of the troop. The archers had orders to let the advance party come fully into the area where they awaited them so that any commanders riding near the fore would be in range of their arrows. From her perch she watched as the men, some of whom may very well have been her own loyal subjects just months ago, came through looking nervously about and up at the trees. They carried shields and spears, the latter upright before them. Just behind the double row, for the path was narrow, came a standard bearer. Josephine sighed with relief, seeing the red cross held by a blue clothed hand. It was O'Donnell.

The double line of spearmen passed through, slowly, nervously, and the hoofbeats grew louder. Josephine knew she would be among the first to see the riders, perhaps even the commander. A scout had long ago described O'Donnell as a tall man with bright red hair and a long drooping mustache. Whether this hair and mustache would be visible under his helm she did not know, but she felt she would know the man from his bearing and how he was equipped. She anxiously waited to see the horsemen as they slowly came into sight.

Finally she saw them. The first two ahorse did not appear to be commanders. Then two men came riding in single file. The first fit her idea of how O'Donnell would sit in the saddle and hold himself, shoulders squared, chin up. Her fingers itched to loose an arrow into his heart, but that was for the master, Ruallauh, who would not miss.

The second man looked like a commander as well. As he cleared the leaves of trees between her and him her heart stopped for a moment. She recognized the armor and everything else about the man. Elerde. She saw that no doubt to improve his view as he rode that the Breton had pushed back the hinged cheek pieces of the helm, and as he drew near she could see the dark eyes, the short black beard. She relaxed her pull on the arrow for just the time it took him to pass. In her heart she called to him, "Farewell, dear Elerde." Someone further along would be the one to take that poetic soul out of this world.

She bit her lower lip as she took her gaze away from his retreating form. It took her a moment to focus on the third man. This one was not armed, not helmeted, and was clearly not accustomed to riding by the tight hold he had on the reins of his mount. She peered, unbelieving, at the tall figure, taller than O'Donnell had been, with the dark auburn hair, the finely molded cheekbones, the clear and honest blue eyes. She stared as she saw him advanced to the spot where she knew the leading marching and mounted men would be in prime position for the ambush.

"Stop!" she screamed without a chance to consider. "Stop, it's Rory!" Her blood went cold as she realized the bargain she had just made. But Rory! She could not let him be cut down. She couldn't.

The two commanders before the minstrel spun quickly towards the origin of the shout. Both Elerde's and Rory's hearts froze as they recognized the voice. She could not clearly see O'Donnell but she did hear him shout something in Irish and heard the horsemen who rode in the fore spur their animals towards her.

Josephine's archers did not know what to do at first. Ruallauh shouted, "Take the horsemen, don't wait!" Josephine heard the zip of arrows and without a second thought dropped her own bow and slipped quickly down the trunk of her tree. She did not see him, but Rory too slipped from his own uneasy mount on the horse. He headed for her just as she did for him, each wanting to shield the other. She heard her cousin shout an oath and then for his men and women to hold their arrows.

The pair met simultaneously with the arrival of three of O'Donnell's horsemen who leapt off their mounts and kept to their own side. One had held the bridle of his horse and maneuvered it as best he could a nervous horse to make a shield between the five and the hidden archers. Josephine and Rory grasped each others' arms, then turned their backs to each other as if on cue. The Queen quickly saw that he was sheltered from arrows by the horse and the three riders. Her shoulders sagged as she realized that though Rory was safe she was now a prisoner. No rescue, no longed for embrace from her beloved husband, no reunion with her children, and who knew what other disasters would follow from this moment. But she couldn't let Rory be killed. She couldn't.

A voice with the same brogue as Rory's and Shannon's came closer to where she and Rory stood with the three men who had drawn their swords and had them held towards herself. This time the man shouted in English. "We have the lady at sword point. If just one arrow flies or anyone interferes in any way, she will die."

She heard her oldest cousin shout back, "You won't kill her, O'Donnell. She is too valuable for that."

O'Donnell laughed derisively. "I care not for that. The longer this war goes on the richer I and my men will be. So if she should come to harm, I shall not weep for her."

Behind him Elerde had his sword in his hand, frantically trying to work out how he could go to Josephine, somehow give her a chance to flee. He knew that if he so much as came within sword's reach of any of O'Donnell's men, he would be cut down and she would still be a prisoner. And he had reason to know she would need his protection again soon, no matter whether she was captured now.

He caught Rory's eye. Rory pled for him to act. He conveyed to Rory the slightest shaking of his head to show that he could not do anything. Rory's face fell and he looked hopeless.

"If you value your own Queen's life," O'Donnell called to Ruallauh and the archers, "You will throw down your bows and knives and come down where we can see you. And tell your men at arms to stay back as well and throw down their weapons."

There was a pause, the Ruallauh's dispirited voice called "Do as he says." Josephine could hear the bows and belt daggers of the archers falling to the underbrush and as she also heard her band sliding down out of the trees, there was a shout and the sound of heavier weapons being dropped by Ioruert's men at arms. She tried to push away the icy feeling in her middle that told her all was lost and that she… had brought this about.

One of O'Donnell's lieutenants ordered his men to gather up the weapons. The remaining horsemen in the advance party rode around to cut off any man who tried to escape. In the meantime O'Donnell just sat astride his horse and stared at Josephine and Rory who still stood back to back in the midst of O'Donnell's men.

When all seemed to quiet slightly, he said in an even voice, "Take her." The men surrounding her and Rory pulled her away. Another man came with a rope to tie her. Rory whirled and tried to prevent the men from taking the Queen, but one of the men struck him hard in the face making him fly back onto his side in the brush. He groaned as he fell on something hard and sharp under the leaf mould. Josephine cried out to see him hurt.

O'Donnell growled, "I will deal with you later, McGuinness." Elerde had sheathed his sword and still hung back. "Shall we not, Breton?" O'Donnell shot at him. Elerde said nothing.

The Breton's thoughts were spinning in his head, the strong urge to act swirling around with the anger at the Queen for not getting away, out of Affynshire as he had told her, saying that he could not protect her if she stayed. His words had become prophecy now. He hoped he would still have a chance at least to keep her from further harm at the hands of O'Donnell and Malcolm and that villainous lot.

O'Donnell's face had taken on a thoughtful, thinly smiling look. "Unless…" he said, almost inaudibly. As all around them watched, the archers standing in a group guarded by O'Donnell's and Elerde's men and those guards themselves, O'Donnell walked his horse around where Rory stood with the bound Queen and her captors. Elerde looked puzzled as he saw O'Donnell's smile broaden.

"Unless," O'Donnell repeated more loudly, "we can exchange." He was now staring directly at Rory, who had clambered to his feet, holding his side, with blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. O'Donnell edged his horse closer to the minstrel. "Is she worth it, my friend?"

Rory stared back, unsure of what O'Donnell meant. They locked their gazes and slowly it came to Rory. He looked surprised, then resigned, and replied, "That and much, much more, Finnegan."

O'Donnell smiled more broadly. "You agree, then, in exchange for her life? You will.. come with me?" In spite of his smile, O'Donnell's eyes held a spark of fear.

"For her life, and her liberty, I will do anything. Anything," Rory echoed what he had said just weeks before to Elerde. "But she must go free."

O'Donnell stared at him for some time, then let out a laugh. "Then she goes free." He leaned towards Rory to offer an arm so Rory could climb up to ride pillion behind him.

Several of O'Donnell's men exchanged knowing glances, but not within sight o f their commander.

Josephine was mystified. What could this possibly mean? She was facing Rory and the Irish commander now, saw the latter's look of triumph and Rory's defiant acquiescence. Rory glanced at her, tried to smile reassurance. He said, "Go. Go now and leave the fighting to those who are less precious. Get out of here and go to your children." There was a tightness in his voice. The smile left his lips. His face filled with pain. "God be with you." He turned and let O'Donnell pull him up behind him. He put his arms around O'Donnell's waist. The look on O'Donnell's face was unfathomable.

Elerde stared in complete disbelief. Not at Rory's choice, but at O'Donnell's. His action was entirely unpredictable. Could his lust be so great? But then a thought struck him. Had he had Josephine in the same position., would he not make the same bargain with the Devil? Then did men like that, like O'Donnell, love that deeply, like any other man? He shook his head. "Not O'Donnell," he denied. "Mayhap others like him, but not O'Donnell. He is too savage." No man like that could love so deeply.

O'Donnell, fully aware that all about him were straining to understand, quickly barked commands at his men. "Take all their weapons. And take… " He looked about. "Take that one." He pointed to Earl Ruallauh.

"No!" shouted the Queen. She looked from Finnegan to Rory, whose head was turned away from her.

Elerde finally spoke. "Give him to me."

O'Donnell looked warily at the Breton but then nodded. "Do it." Ruallauh was pulled roughly from where he stood with the other archers and tied just as the Queen had been. "But not to Keito Uxello. To Horsfort."

Ruallauh was tied behind one of Elerde's lieutenants and would be forced to walk along behind his horse. He glanced at the Queen his face a mask of defiance. He glanced quizzically at Rory who averted his eyes.

O'Donnell was ordering his lieutenants to divide the men in their companies so that a larger force went north to Malcolm's fortress of Horsfort. It seemed that he would take the rest south, to Hucknall Manor, his own stronghold, given to him by Malcolm. To the Earl he said, glancing up as well at Elerde, "If you try to escape.. or have help escaping, the old woman, Modron, will die."

Then he called to his commanders, "Come," and turned his horse the way they had come into the forest and rode away with Rory, his head turned towards the Queen now, flashing her one last look before the forest swallowed her up.

O'Donnell's chief lieutenant gave Elerde a scowl and said, "Let's go. " To the three men who had been holding the Queen, he ordered, "Leave her." He watched as Elerde tried to salute her. Josephine looked away with some puzzlement still coloring her angry face. Elerde bowed his head and spurred his horse. The usurping forces advanced and quitted the path, leaving the rest of the Queen's allies to rush to her to free her from her bonds.

"I do not understand," she said to her cousin Ioruert. "What was the exchange? Why free me and take Rory?"

Ioruert shook his head, unable to explain. He pulled the rope off her and threw it on the ground. "Let's get back to camp. We need to decide what to do now that Ruallauh has been taken.

Josephine looked up at his face and slowly nodded.

Next: A Royal Reunion